Chapter 23

Loni and I sat on my rock and watched a storm march across the desert valley. The sun was setting, and the sunset was fighting a losing battle with the storm. It wasn't cold, but it was chilly. We wore jackets. Mine was leather, the jacket I'd worn while riding the Harley from Houston to Gold Canyon. Loni's was a designer jacket, a Geiger of Austria walk jacket, she'd told me. She wore a matching beret. She looked adorable.

"The art of giving that you talk about," Loni said, "has to be easier if you can read minds."

"It's essential," I said. "I ask a question, and then listen to the silent communication that a person has with himself before he answers my question aloud. Not always, but usually, his silent thoughts give me direction. I once told Terry that I was charitable because I was selfish and used a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote to prove my point."

"What quote?"

"'It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life that no person can sincerely try to help another without helping themselves.' That's the Emerson quote I used with Terry. I told her that when I help someone I help myself. Therefore, I help others because I was selfish. That was a lie. She accepted my explanation, but it was a lie."

"How so?"

"A true act of giving cannot be selfish in any way," I said. "The problem with giving comes from the harm a gift can cause. No one wants charity. Accepting charity demeans the recipient. I use my telepathic gift to make sure my gift will neither demean nor insult."

She thought about what I said. I didn't experience her thoughts. I wasn't connected with her. She'd asked me earlier to stay out of her mind while we talked. I honored the request. I always would.

"So," she said, "when I offered to take Maria shopping because I knew she was concerned about her wardrobe being inadequate for our trip to Hollywood, I demeaned and insulted her and validated her concern. And my offer to take Terry shopping was worse. She wasn't concerned about her wardrobe, but my offer made her think that I believed her wardrobe was inadequate."

I said nothing.

"I am fashion conscious," she said. "I dress well. Offering to take either woman shopping as a gift was doomed for failure no matter how I expressed the offers. My offers also contained some selfishness on my part."

I still said nothing.

"They were selfish because even after taking them shopping I'd still look better than they. I knew this before I made the offers."

We sat in silence and watched the storm. Wind gusted. The wind and dust would blast through the ranch, but not the rain. The life-giving rain would miss us. I tasted grit in my mouth.

"How would you have handled the offers?" she said.

"I would not have made the offers," I said.

"You offered to buy bespoke suits for Greg, and he accepted your offer," she said.

"Not graciously," I said. "That was a mistake. On the other hand, Owen would not accept a bespoke suit from me, but he did from you."

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he understood that buying the suit for him was important for you. He let you do it to please you."

She thought about that and nodded. "How would you have handled Maria's concern?"

"I would have called Leah," I said.

"Huh?"

"Maria will accept and appreciate guidance from her daughter regarding her wardrobe. If money were needed to eliminate the worry, I would have given the money to Leah. She would have either accepted the money or not. In either instance, I would have offended neither Maria nor Leah."

"And you know this because you can read minds," she said.

"Yes."

"And no matter what, you would not have made the offer to Terry," she said.

"That's correct."

"And when I go shopping on Rodeo Drive, it would be a mistake to invite either of them to join me."

"Not with what's happened. They'll let you give now because they both understand buying some clothes for them is important for you. They want to please you. You're giving; they're giving. A fair trade. But buy them only one outfit each, and don't spend the day. Two or three hours tops."

She thought about that and nodded again.

"Have you been to the Beverly Wilshire?" I said.

"I have."

"Did you avail yourself of their spa?"

"I have, not the whole nine yards but some of it."

"A gift for a day at the spa while you went shopping on Rodeo Drive would have neither demeaned nor insulted Maria and Terry," I said.

She thought about that for a long moment. "Do you know this because you've read their minds?"

I laughed. "No, I know this because the gift would give them pleasure without touching on their inadequacies. The secret of giving, Loni, is giving to strengths, not weaknesses. I didn't give Juan a job because he was homeless. I hired him because he's an artist at landscape maintenance and he'd been clean long enough for me to take a chance with him. That I eliminated his homelessness with the job was a secondary consideration. Terry and Maria are sensuous women. They will enjoy the sensuous experience the spa at the Beverly Wilshire will give them. Give to strengths and to make dreams come true, Loni. The dreams don't need to be big dreams, just dreams. Do this and the joy you will experience from giving won't be matched by anything else you can do?"

"Even sex?" she said, grinning.

"No, sex is better. But giving is close. When you give, make sure the recipient knows you're giving to make you feel good, not them. That won't eliminate the possibility of insulting them, but it'll take the edge off the insult if it does."

She nodded. "By gosh, I think I've got it. Let's go have sex."

"We'd be fools not to," I said.

And Loni did get it. Shopping for three hours on Rodeo Drive, lunch and then a half-day at the Beverly Wilshire spa was a huge success with the ladies, especially the spa. Winston guarded the ladies during the shopping spree while Greg, Owen and I met with the bespoke tailor for our second fitting. I ordered some more casual clothes. Phoenix was a casual city; I'd need more casual clothes than business suits. While the ladies enjoyed the sensuous services offered by the spa, the men flew in a helicopter to a straight Egyptian Arabian horse farm near Los Angeles where I purchased a three-year-old black mare with a star on her regal face.

"Winston, do you think your granddaughters would enjoy learning how to ride horses?" I asked.

They'd be thrilled, he thought, and then said, "Never knew a girl that didn't adore horses," he said.

"Invite them to Refuge, your daughter, too. I'll have Ellen or Grant give them a riding lesson."

"I'll do that," he said.

For dinner that night, I invited everyone to join Loni and me in our suite for dinner. We occupied a penthouse suite that offered 270-degree city views from its floor-to-ceiling windows and wraparound balcony and a dining room that could accommodate twelve. The extra bedrooms were wasted, but I'd reserved the suite for the views and the dining room. I wanted the evening and the place to be memorable.

The ladies were resplendent in cocktail dresses, and the men wore suits and ties. Owen's tie was a bolo. The conversation revolved around the shopping spree, the spa experience, and the trip to the Arabian horse farm. The food was delicious. The wines were exceptionable and complimented the food. A string quartet played soft classical music in a corner of the suite. It was conspicuous consumption at its finest.

Then the moment arrived.

I pulled Loni up from her seat at the table and sat her in another chair where she'd be center stage, so to speak. Then I moved to one knee in front of her. Until that second, she had not known what I was doing. Then she knew. Tears misted her lovely eyes, and her beautiful face grew radiant with love and anticipation.

I said, "Loni, I love you. You light up my days. You bring joy to my nights. You take away my loneliness with your tender, sweet love. In front of these witnesses, our friends, friends we love and cherish, I'm asking you, no, I'm begging you to become my wife?"

While I spoke, I removed the engagement ring from my pocket and slipped it on her ring finger. It fit perfectly. I'd been right. It was dazzling.

"Yes!" Loni exclaimed and launched herself at me, bowling me over, and we both landed on the floor, Loni on top of me. Not the most graceful sight, I'm sure, but expressive, especially when she gave me about a hundred kisses while saying yes, yes, yes, over and over again.

Someone, I don't know who, started clapping, and the applause grew. I helped Loni to her feet. She curtsied toward our audience; I bowed, and then I took her in my arms and kissed her properly, which turned the applause into hoots and hurrahs.

That's when the waiters wheeled in magnums of champagne in buckets of ice. Corks were pulled and flutes filled, and the congratulatory toasts flew. I clasped hands with the men, and hugged the ladies. Loni hugged everyone, and the ladies oohed and ahed over her ring.

Then Loni and I danced to the music coming from the string quartet. With encouragement, our friends joined us. We traded partners and danced some more, and then our guests left.

The hotel staff had cleaned up the mess during the dancing. Loni and I were alone, so we retired to the master bedroom and made tender, sweet love.

The memorable evening had been a rousing success.

The next morning was even more memorable but not in a positive way.

We were assembled in the Beverly Wilshire's spacious and beautiful lobby waiting for the limos that would take us to the airport. As was my habit, I briefly connected with various individuals in the lobby. Then I connected with the doorman. He was wondering about two men hanging around outside the entrance to the hotel. Were these men in range?

Yes, one of them, and the thoughts I experienced made my blood run cold. Assassins! And I was their target!

Why? I didn't get it. I had no enemies, not since Winston had eliminated Garfield.

I searched for and found the other man. They bracketed the entrance to the hotel. Was there a third? Or a fourth? The thoughts of the two men didn't answer those questions. There'd be at least one more man – a driver for their getaway.

I could see them? Could they see me, see in through the glass walls and doors at the entrance? They didn't act like they'd seen me. Did they have a spotter inside the lobby?

A limo pulled up in front of the hotel at the same time I connected with the spotter. I wasn't armed. I'd need help. I gathered Greg and Winston around me.

"I've noticed three armed men, Greg," I said.

His head spun, looking around. "Where?"

"Don't search for them. You'll telegraph that we're aware of them. Act casual. Two men outside the entrance, one to the left, the other to the right. The third man is standing near the elevator bank. He's wearing a blue blazer and tan trousers."

"I see him. You say he's armed?" Greg said.

"Yes, I saw a shoulder holster when he turned suddenly to avoid a luggage rack being pushed by a bellhop."

"The man by the elevator is wearing wireless communication equipment," Winston said.

"So is one of the men outside," Greg said. "Yeah, the other man outside, too."

The limo driver walked inside the hotel. He'd driven us to the hotel from the airport when we arrived in L.A., so he recognized us. When he walked up to me, I said, "We'll be a while, Fred. Wait for us in the limo. Tell the other driver when he arrives." With eight of us, we needed two limos for ground transportation.

"Yes, sir," Fred said, turned and walked away.

Loni joined us. I connected with her. Stay calm and listen, I said silently. Don't search for them, but I've isolated three armed men, two outside and one inside. Assassins. I'm their target. Loni, please do as I say without question or argument.

All right if you promise me you'll be careful, she said.

I promise.

"Loni, we may or may not be targeted by three armed men," I said out loud for Greg and Winston's benefit but quietly enough not to be overheard by others in the busy lobby. "Please gather Owen and the ladies and take them to the coffee shop. Tell them our departure will be delayed for a while."

"All right," she said and walked away. I watched as she spoke with Owen. He nodded and guided Loni and the other women out of the lobby, moving toward the coffee shop.

"The man by the elevator is speaking into his mike," Winston said.

Outside, the other limo arrived. Fred, who had been talking with the doorman, sauntered over to the new driver, probably to tell him about the delay.

"We need to find out if these men are targeting us," I said. "Winston, can you take the man by the elevator and move him into the men's room that's located off the hallway around the corner from where he's standing without causing a commotion?"

He nodded. Good. His thoughts told me that he understood what I wanted to accomplish.

"You'll need to disable his communication gear so he can't warn the others."

"I understand," Winston said.

"We'll interrogate him in the men's room."

"Yes we will," Winston said and walked away but not directly toward the spotter.

Without being too obvious about it, Greg watched the two men outside the hotel. When the spotter lost interest in Winston, Winston turned and approached him from the left. I helped. I connected with the spotter. Don't move, don't speak, don't move, don't speak, I said into his mind. He'd believe the words were his own thoughts. Would he respond accordingly? Yep.

Winston ripped the mike away at the same time he shoved a gun in the spotter's kidney. He quickly and quietly marched the man around the corner toward the men's room. Greg stopped at the end of the short corridor leading to the restroom where he could still observe the men outside the hotel.